


Migraines

by ythmir



Series: 182 series [12]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, they/them pronouns for a named MC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23733703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ythmir/pseuds/ythmir
Summary: in which Satan lends a hand
Relationships: Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Main Character
Series: 182 series [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1337182
Kudos: 49





	Migraines

Demi placed their palms directly on their temple and began to drum their outstretched fingers on the top of their head. Slowly, methodically, just as they had read from the internet the night before.

They listened to the steady _thup thup thup_ but no matter how much they tried to focus on the sound, no matter how much they tried to soothe themselves, the budding discomfort only continued to blossom into an aching pain.

 _Not helping,_ they blew out a breath.

Across them, Satan put down his flashcards. “Another episode?”

Demi could only grunt.

For all the assurances that humans could survive in Hell, there was bound to be some side effects, eventually. Nausea, for one. Sometimes, dizziness. Rarely, the creeping sense of being constantly watched.

Not that anyone would ever dare put the tips of their tails in meddling with the Exchange Program, but there was simply too much Other in the air, too much of everything not meant to be constantly inhaled or digested by ordinary mortals. The luring scent of mirage flowers. The enamoring call of devil-crows circling overhead. Even, Hell Kitchen’s famous flaming cheeseburgers, despite its otherworldly savory flavor and deadpan guarantee that all ingredients were fresh and delivered daily.

“Did you bring your meds?” Satan asked, sounding as if he was leagues away.

“Didn’t.” Demi shook their head. Made the pain worse. “Taken the cap last week.”

It was the medicine provided for by the Diavolo Household that did wonders, but they were not meant to be taken much or often, and did little to prevent any of the undesirables before the fact.

Demi had asked the others for help, of course. Simeon and Luke had their own remedies for their extended stay in Hell, little prisms of Heaven’s elixirs which hung around their chest, but they could unfortunately not offer without having to go through all the legal celestial requirements.

Solomon had offered dubious black candies that Demi had nearly jumped at, if not for the caveat that they did absolutely nothing; the trick being that they needed to be a sorcerer first.

Satan said something Demi couldn’t catch.

“Don’t mind me.” They said in what they hoped was a proper answer, pulling down their hands to stretch their neck, squeezing their eyes shut as they did. “Just go on and read. This’ll pass.”

“Like anyone could concentrate with you writhing in pain.” Satan said. “Well, what do you do when you can’t take any medicine then?”

“Wait for it to be over.”

A pause. “That doesn’t sound like a practical approach.” Satan’s tone was dubious.

“Believe me when I say I’ve tried _a lot_ of approaches.” Demi sighed. “Nothing helps.”

They would have to shoulder it through, and Demi suspected, would continue to do for some time. Not that they minded, really; they could not blame Hell for being, well, hellish. Besides, it was a small price to pay, wasn’t it? What was a little pain for the opportunity to live in Hell’s finest metropolis?

But damn it all if it wasn’t inconvenient.

Demi’s notes were all but forgotten, the quiz due tomorrow a far-away specter, as they dealt with the agonizing headache now. The minutes stretched into what felt like days, and for a brief moment, they were all but tempted to take up Solomon’s offer.

_Sorcery feels like a cinch compared to this goddamn migraine._

Demi heard Satan move. “Give it here.”

“Give what where?”

They felt Satan’s hands on top of their head and Demi nearly jumped out of their skin.

“Don’t move. Don’t argue.” Satan was behind them, nudging their hands away with a _tsk tsk_ , before proceeding to do some sort of variation of what they had been doing just moments before.

Only, _miraculously,_ better.

Maybe it was because Satan had bigger hands. Maybe, it was some unknown demonic power at work. Maybe, after Demi was nothing more than putty in his hands, Satan would reveal he had taken a bizarre Hell-exclusive masseuse class because _why exactly not?_

They tried to string two coherent words together as protest but between a Lord of Hell holding their head and the way he was vanquishing their migraine and tossing it out the window, what exactly could they say? What could they even _think_?

Except that, for all that he _was_ Wrath, his hands told a different story.

_Gentle. Soothing. Tender._

“Is it helping?” Satan asked after a moment.

“Very.” Demi wished their voice did not sound so content. “Please, continue.”

“Tell me when to stop.”

“Never.”

Satan chuckled but obliged nonetheless.


End file.
